


Clarification of Orders

by iniquiticity



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Canon Era, M/M, Men at Baffling Odds With Their Feelings, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11621061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: Being the chief staff aide to a fate-Touched, half-mad general was difficult enough without taking an improvised swim in the Schuylkill River. As for the general, well, who could sensibly respond to someone so valuable coming back from the dead?





	Clarification of Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Right Hand Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594841) by [herowndeliverance (atheilen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/pseuds/herowndeliverance). 



> sometimes the incredible herowndeliverance says 'hey, what if there was an au with general a. hamilton and aide colonel g. washington?' so then you get to talking. and naturally she goes 'what about if washington almost drowned in the schuylkill and everyone was told he was dead, but then he reappears?'
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr at [iniquiticity](http://iniquiticity.tumblr.com), or on twitter at [@picklesnake](https://twitter.com/picklesnake).

Sure it was the summer, but that only slightly lowered the inconvenience of taking an unexpected swim.

Furthermore, he’d lost the boat, his hat, and a horse, and the general would have plenty of pointed comments about all those things; out of his many quirks, one was that he strongly disliked to waste anything. They all had sewn holes in their clothes, at this point. 

By the time he reached camp he was wet, tired, cold, hungry, and very sore. One would think you’d become accustomed to the hungry and sore, but in fact you never quite did, and his excess misery piled well on top of those pillars. Worse was that he was sure he was about to be thoroughly shouted at, for reasons that were and were not his fault. One would think, like the cold and sore, you became accustomed to being shouted at, but you didn’t. At least no one else bothered him as he walked through the camp and towards their current headquarters. The general would stare at him and asked him if he thought it was a good time for a swim, or something snide. 

In the general’s present office, a number of the aides were crunched close to the general’s desk, at which he presently sat. 

Washington cleared his throat, and the men all stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. Worse was General Hamilton, whose eyes had gone round, mouth falling open, oddly aghast. 

“Leave us,” he said. 

There was much murmuring and a flow of aides around him. The door clicked shut. There was a terrible silence which implied a storm. Washington knew. 

“Dear colonel,” Hamilton said, sighing and folding his arms across his chest, “What precisely would have given you the opinion that it is even marginally acceptable to drown?” 

Sometimes Hamilton didn’t actually want him to answer. He was become better at learning this. “Sir.”

“What sort of utter insubordination do you propose, to leave your corpse somewhere, rotting away? Do you think I don’t need that corpse? That corpse is very important to me.” 

Now, Washington had long come to the conclusion that the general was at least half-mad. Such things occurred, when you were fate-Touched, as Hamilton was. No one other than fate-Touched half-mad men came from storms to lead revolutionary armies. No one could be as brilliant and lunatic without being Sent, in some way. It was a very mad question. It was madder than usual. 

“Sir,” Washington said, trying to grasp the thread of conversation, “With all due respect. I am undrowned.” 

“Imagine the gall a man might have, to leave himself at the bottom of a river, when his superior officer requires him.” The general stood, and clasped his arms behind his back, walking slowly around his desk, his eyes roving through the office. “And from such a loyal officer! To take such an abrupt and terrible action unordered!” Here Hamilton scoffed. “It is an utterly abysmal breach in etiquette. Certainly someone should have taught you better.” 

Washington restrained himself from staring. Hamilton did not seem to notice. Oftentimes he could become completely ignorant to the whole world, when he was in one of his moods. 

“And to drown, at that! Such an ignoble sort of death. To rot in a river, eaten by fish and shat on.” Hamilton sighed a very big sigh, and pulled his arms back behind him, stretching his chest out. Stretch concluded, he crossed his arms across his chest and took Washington in with a stern eye. When one had a normal superior, this sort of sternness suggested deep trouble; with Hamilton, he was never sure. “What do you have to say for yourself, for this disobedient and unruly drowning?” 

He was clearly expected to respond to this absurd question. One could not only be dripping wet, cold, starving, and sore, but now he was utterly confused. He opened his mouth and nothing came out, and then he closed it again. Then, gathering himself - for being strong in the face of madness was a required trait for a man of his position - he spoke. “Had I drowned, sir, I would be prepared to have no excuse for such an insubordinate action. Although, if you would permit me to bring to your attention, I believe myself to be sufficiently less drowned than His Excellency posits.” 

The general frowned at him. That seemed to have been the wrong answer. “So you mean to say that not only have you gone off and drowned yourself, and left me with the task of finding a replacement for you, and of all people you would know that will be impossibly difficult, -- and of course I now must balance this with the oh-so-minor duty of keeping this pathetic thing called an army together, but also you don't even have an entertaining excuse for it?” 

The general walked past him, and then around him in an inspection-feeling circle. It was humiliating in the way only Hamilton could make him feel. You would think one could never feel like they were ten years old and were caught stealing hay or something equally ridiculous, but a touch of madness and the correct level of intensity could prove you wrong. 

Washington dripped in silence for a few moments. “I believe I would have been quite sufficiently shot, had I not left the boat. Sir.” 

“Oh, I see,” Hamilton frowned at him, “So perhaps I have never elaborated that you are not permitted to be drowned, but you quite certainly know you are not permitted to be shot. It is a very peculiar way to shirk one’s duties, I must admit. I commend you! Such ingenuity is not usually your strong point.” 

“Sir,” Washington started again, feeling the familiar trickle of anger. “It is quite evident that I am neither drowned nor shot. How might i elaborate on this?” 

“You look quite sufficiently drowned to me, Colonel,” Hamilton said, and he stopped directly in front of Washington, and reached out, and took the buff labels of his coat and squeezed them. Rivulets of water rolled from the fabric onto the floor. Hamilton must have seen him begin to respond, because he squeezed the jacket again. “No, do not waste my time with your excuses. I say this not to upset you, but I wish you to know how utterly disappointed I am with this behavior, and to imagine someone who I have always placed my utmost confidence and trust in to do as I wish, and take the best steps for this army, and the best steps he can for our process-- to see him betray me as such is nearly incomprehensible. To have a man I had such faith in appear here, dead and drowned, practically rotting -- it is embarrassing. Humiliating, I daresay. And you would know, had you not decided that the river floor was a more preferable habitat, that I have suffered many intense humiliations in my career and my life. So!” He released Washington’s lapels, finally, though the wet fabric maintained the form of Hamilton’s clenched hands. “You are dismissed at present. There is much to do, and now I have lost my most valuable aide to do it.” 

Here Hamilton sat back at his chair, and wiped his hands on his breeches, and picked up his pen and his glasses, and went back to reading some letter. Washington stared at him for several more moments. He had just been dismissed, but it seemed unwise to leave. He was not drowned. He was a bit damp, yes, but monumentally far from drowned. 

He suppressed the familiar frustration - ah, there it was, next to the sore and the hungry - wiped a few stray drops from his face, and stood very straight. “Sir, if I can be permitted to assist you.” 

Hamilton looked up at him over his glasses. “I recall you being more obedient before you drowned.” 

“I am not drowned, sir.” 

Hamilton took his glasses off now, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He sighed again. “It is just embarrassing to know that man not only lies about whether he is drowned, but then does not go when he is dismissed. Dear god. Who has replaced that stern corpse I had known?” 

Washington bit the inside of his mouth. It was one thing for one’s superior to make a small joke at their officer’s expense, and another for all of the inanity to be occurring. Perhaps Hamilton had finally left this plane of reality entirely - only the war was not over, and Washington was at least sure that if Hamilton had been put here to win the war, he would remain at least a single thread of sensibility until that time, and now he showed now. He took several more steps forward towards where Hamilton sat, feeling his feet squish in his socks. The anger kept him warm, at least. It didn’t do anything for the soreness or the hunger but replacing cold was good enough. 

“I am well aware that there’s nothing you enjoy more than a good joke at my expense, sir,” he began, letting the frown curl across his mouth, “And this one is quite funny indeed. I am sure Colonel Laurens will have a long laugh with you about it. But at present I report for duty and anything else you may need from me, and until you acknowledge that I am very much alive, I do not intend to leave you with your incomprehensible version of events. There is too much important to do without you feeling I cannot be ordered.” 

Hamilton’s drawn eyebrows raised up into his hairline. He put the pen down, and then he stood with great deliberation. He even pushed the chair into the desk. Washington could not remember the last time the chair had been pushed in, and he thought for a moment that it would actually be a very good time to be dismissed after all. The general did have a way of looking at a person before he intended to eviscerate them, of which Washington was familiar with, and worse, he was now being given that look.

“Perhaps your unruly drowning has caused you to forgot the order of the army, colonel,” Hamilton said, and he again walked in front of the desk and leaned back on it, his hands wrapped around the edge of your desk. “Although I suppose no mention had been made for if the drowned are always insubordinate, or if it just happens to be your distinct personality, as unique and remarkable as it has always been. Regardless of this fact, I think it unnecessary for you to run your mouth at this present junction, and perhaps instead I imagine you would be better suited for removing yourself from my office, so that I may actually accomplish something.” 

“You are being a lunatic, sir,” Washington growled, because he may have been wet, hungry, cold, sore, and angry, but he had reached the conclusion he was not leaving until he was acknowledged, along with all of those things. “I am very much here, and very much alive, and extremely undrowned, and you refuse to acknowledge out of some secret joke you presently engage in, and it would bring me great pleasure for you to merely pretend a paper facade of an illusion of a pretend disguise that it is meaningful even in the slightest, most insignificant of ways.” 

At this Hamilton’s eyebrows went up again, and his face turned condescending, a fake little frown twisting there. “Do you need me to acknowledge you, my dear sweet dead colonel?” he said, in a mockery of a purr, “Is that what you value? Knowing that I care about the daydream of you returning to me, soaking wet and subservient? Having you appear like an illusion, to convince me that you are alive and in good health, and to know that nothing would please you more than to continue to carry out my orders?” He pushed off the desk and stood in Washington’s space, drawing his hands again up the labels of the man’s coat. 

_Yes._

“Sir.” 

It would be enough, or else he would slug his commander. 

Hamilton laughed. It was abrupt and sharp and mad as the rest of him. It was harsh and unfriendly and as alienated as Washington knew Hamilton to be. It was a laugh completely befitting an unprepared young general who was loathed by everyone, and yet even despite that wanted nothing more than to drag the whole collective, kicking and screaming, towards victory. 

It was not that Washington became less angry when he heard that laugh, only that Hamilton could do something to him - could find some point in his soul and twist it in just the right way. Hamilton had been brought to them, to this place, for this explicit purpose. In the face of the utter absurdity and the complete lack of any reasonable chance of victory, it must have seemed reasonable, even sensible, to drag on such a joke, and laugh at his useless anger. 

“My dear colonel,” Hamilton murmured, grinning a queer little grin. The man’s hands came up, and his thumbs stroked over Washington’s cheekbones. His hands were warm; Hamilton could’ve been - had been - warm in a snowstorm. He looked Washington in a very strange way that Washington was not sure he liked. It reminded him of, oddly enough, dancing. Washington had the peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach, and then quite absurdly he thought he was going to be kissed. He had a second, even more peculiar feeling, which was that he both wanted to be kissed very much, and was also furious with the thought of it. 

He would have to reconcile these later, apparently, because the next moment he was being kissed, and with Hamilton’s usual intensity at that. It was incredible, that the man could make him forget about feeling wet, cold, hungry, sore and angry. Perhaps a personal failing, to not be more persistently furious after one had been the butt of a joke in which one had died, and all of that could be soothed - although soothed was not the word for how he was presently feeling - by one’s superior grabbing your jacket and kissing you hard enough you thought your lips might be sore. Worse, that his hands found Hamilton’s lean shoulders and kept him close. 

Finally Hamilton released his mouth, and Washington stared at him, the quick breaths through slick lips, a red flush appearing in his cheeks. Hamilton did not let go of his jacket. 

“I suppose one should ask first,” Hamilton murmured, and then smirked, “Though, dutiful as you are, you would never deny me, would you? Even if you disliked it? Although you know I prefer you honest.” 

As if there were words he could use to express himself. Between the two of them, Hamilton had always been more talented there, although he had never decided whether the skill was part of the punishment of his madness, of some of the reward he got for being Fated as he was. Certainly, the talent had gotten him both into and out of a very good bit of trouble. 

Washington licked his lips and stared at him, trying to catch his breath. 

“Speechlessness becomes you less than a dip in the river.” 

He was being given an out, if he wanted it. If he wished to depart, he knew that Hamilton would bear him no ill will. And yet at the same time he was not unfamiliar to the warm beginnings of desire, and recognized it immediately within himself, and along with the extreme inappropriateness of it. He was well aware that he desired the general, which was unacceptable on more reasons than one could name in a reasonable amount of time; he had a sneaking suspicion that the general had always wanted him, despite that he was not young, pretty, or easily discarded. 

Being Hamilton’s aide required quick thinking and the ability to exploit the opening when you saw one, and the talent to continue no matter what the circumstances sounded like or what an officer said to you. He had shown this ability over and over, and he knew Hamilton respected it, and at this moment it deserted him entirely. 

“I,” he stared, and Hamilton stared at him, and they were really much too close for any serious talking. He was accustomed to the close quarter, and yet those quarters were not this close, with Hamilton staring directly through him. This close he could see every flaw Hamilton had been given: normally-invisible slight discolorations of his skin; a dip in his nose where perhaps it had been broken; the lines of the bags that made his eyes seem too bright; the texture of his lips; the day-old stubble in his cheek that had to be trimmed to make his goatee; the strands of hair, both gray and black, that he pulled back into his queue. 

“Dear god,” Hamilton finally said, exasperated, and pulled away. 

Washington was not sure that was what he wanted. Or rather, he knew what he wanted, and this was not it - but to express that, with all the various chasms between them, and the shame of it, and to prove the rumors true, and that the general was married -- 

\-- and yet, if it had been decided by forces greater than them that it should be like this, and Hamilton, of course, had been Touched, and one did not have such an experience without becoming peculiar in some manner or another, and if nothing else Washington knew in inordinate detail all the ways Hamilton was peculiar. There was also this thought, that he had not prior to this moment considered even if he had known in some distance: as Hamilton had been chosen by providence to lead this cause, could he himself not been placed here as well? If he was Fated as well, to serve at the hand of this man, as brilliant and mad as he was, then he would have his own peculiarities. 

Could providence want - demand - that Hamilton touch him in the unacceptable way that he wanted? 

“Sir,” he said. Hamilton sat back down and gone back to work, and looked up at him when he spoke. “I apologize for the wait.” 

“What was I thinking, to expect you to be rash.” 

“I believe I require more evidence to ascertain the truth of the situation.” 

Hamilton blinked at him a moment and then smiled; Washington thought, not for the first time, that no human could have been granted that smile by chance, which always seemed to erase the anxieties he knew the general to have. The man stood, and shrugged off his jacket, leaving on the back of his chair - without all the gold embroidery he always seemed much smaller- and walked around his desk, and spread his arms wider than his torso. Welcoming him. “Collect your evidence, colonel.” 

Washington took the remaining steps forward. Hamilton must have been familiar with his terrible anxiety at that moment, to know there was something you were meant to do, and yet be completely at a loss on how to do it. Luckily it seemed that at least one of them understood the process, because Hamilton again took his face and looked at him for a few moments, eyes incomprehensible with the tangle of his thoughts, and then resumed kissing him. Tenderly at first, probably because he knew Washington to be (and Washington was) a man who, upon uncertainty, withdrew. Washington pressed forward only when he was assured the decision was correct, and here that was exactly what he did. 

When they finally separated, he felt only achy and immensely warm all over. The cold and the tired had gone entirely. He had been correct in his earlier guess that kissing Hamilton might cause one’s lips to become sore. 

“Colonel,” Hamilton said, very close to him, “How many times have you kissed another man?” 

“Once, sir,” he said, which was now true. 

Hamilton clucked his tongue in disapproval, and drew his fingers across the base of Washington’s skull, leaving gooseflesh. “I can hardly imagine what counts for fun in Virginia.” Then he kissed Washington again, and the hunger was powerful and different and new. He pressed his hips against Washington’s front and sighed a strange sigh. 

He felt certain that he enjoyed it, and needed more. How absurd it all was, to have this mad, Fated man in his arms - the general all their embarrassing, pathetic armies in this desperate cause - and feel the press of the man’s desire against his thigh, and his hands on him. He must have been mad too, but how could he not, if he was Touched in a matter even remotely similar? 

Hamilton took a step back and looked at him, in the way only Hamilton could look at him. Hamilton stroked his fingers over his cheekbones and shook his head at some wild, ridiculous thought he must have had. “My dear colonel,” he murmured, and kissed him yet again, chastely this time, “I explicitly forbid you to drown. Does that clarify the issue?”

“Yes, sir,” Washington replied. 

“Is there anything else I can assist you with before I send you to your tent to dry off?” 

He understood the request. He knew that he wanted - _lusted_. For his commander, nonetheless. There were hardly words to describe the indecency of it. That commander wanted him - wanted this, wanted him, wanted this, engaged in these acts, and the rumors were true - was a different level of the ongoing catastrophe of the war. 

He needed time to think. Hamilton might laugh at him for it, and think him too deliberate and overcautious. 

Here, Hamilton was permitting him his time. 

“I will depart, sir,” he said, and stood at attention. 

“Wait,” Hamilton said, and he reached over for his hat and threw it at Washington, who caught it with a surprised look on his face, “You don’t get to keep that, and I expect to see you wearing a replacement tomorrow. Next time you take a swim, come back with your full uniform.”


End file.
